


Lost in the Fog

by clockwork_knight



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2020-12-01 21:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20907140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockwork_knight/pseuds/clockwork_knight
Summary: Basically Afton goes to Hell, well Silent Hill. Can he be redeemed? Likely not but he's going to face a whole host of demons and monsters of his own making in this Silent Hill\FNAF cross over





	1. Fog Bound

(AN- Not Betaed.)

Lost in the Fog

Fog Bound part one  
\-------------------------------------------------

The fog.

The fog lifeless and oppressive. And thick, allowing for only a few feet of visibility in any direction while it swirled around the dead trees that lined either side of the cracked road with its faded yellow lines running off into the distance. 

He glanced behind him at the wreck of a truck that was halfway in a ditch, the drivers side door hanging open and the headlights barely piercing the gloom. The ‘Fazbear Fright House’ and ‘Sinclair Amusements’ painted on the side barely visible in the darkness. A small sea of smashed and broken boxes spilling their contents out like entrails lay behind the truck. 

Normally waking up in an unknown location would have brought he fast hard bite of fear but all he felt was annoyance. 

The dark winding ribbon of road snaked off into the fog. 

Stay with the truck, among the broken animatronics, junk and boxes in hope the driver would return or walk down the road and hope to find a town at the end of it? It could be days before any one showed up for the truck. 

The choice wasn’t hard. 

Stay with the truck. Its safe. 

He paused and ground his teeth in agitation. Shut up. The suits AI fell silent. With a low growl he began to walk forward, the milky white fog swirling around his legs. 

A large decrepit sign loomed out of the darkness. The paint was cracked and peeling but the letters spelling out Silent Hill was still visible. It was here he paused, dull eyes fixed on the sign. As he gazed upon the sign he experienced something immense as he threatened to push past the invisible barrier before him. A mortifying chill that spread down his spine. There were no words in his vocabulary that could properly describe the sense of foreboding that seized him like a vice. 

I don’t like this. Go back to the truck. 

I thought I told you to shut up. 

The off yellow fur on the back of his neck stood on end while he ground the large blocky teeth in indecision. 

He pushed past the invisible barrier and stepped past the sign, then took another step. The sense of foreboding clung all the tighter to him, wrapping its icy claws deep into his framework. His head swiveled to glance back and the dim shadowy outline of the truck. After a moment of hesitation he began to walk towards town. 

The fog was so thick that it muffled sound, making it hard to hear anything. The faint distant sounds that came from beyond the veil kept his brain in a guessing game with itself; were the nosies real or was it just his imagination? Were the creaking sounds his own body or that of skeletal tree branches reaching for the cloud shrouded sky? 

There was no shaking the wrongness that saturated everything. 

Slowly he made his way forward, shoulders hunched. The thick grey fog rolled back enough for him to see sidewalks on either side, with faded, darkened husks of storefronts slowly materialized. He was very aware of the constant lack of human presence. No cars could be heard, no voices, only the constant thick sounds of silence that was occasionally broken by a distant noise that he could not identify or distant rumble of thunder.

It was surreal.

And frightening.

Maybe the damn rabbit was right and he should return to the truck. 

He stood in the middle of the road, surrounded by dark traffic lights and decaying hulks of buildings, ragged ears twitching back and forth. He tried to convince himself it was just a ghost town, they were scattered all over the place, there was nothing to be frightened of but the sense of dread remained.

Taking stock of the buildings around him, he spotted what appeared to be a small dinner. The facade of the building was decayed in spots by rust and rot, the neon dull and broken. The windows dark and empty like the sockets of a skull. Pushing past the unease he pulled the door open. 

The faint tinkel of a bell hanging above the door broke the silence momentarily. 

The air was thick and stale, old seats covered by dust and filth waited patiently for people that would never return. Broken blinds half covered the large windows lining the front of the dinner allowing brief flashes of lightning to illuminate revealing faded posters, cobwebs and piles of grimy dishes stacked in random spots. No dinner had been served there in years and never would be again. 

The dinner was a relic of a forgotten past that nobody cared about. It was as much of a tombstone as the old restaurant had been. 

He ignored the worn and faded menus that were scattered on the black and white checkered floor. It wasn’t as if he could eat any way. Instead, he made his way over to the counter and sat on a faded rusting barstool, fingers tapping on the scared and grimy counter top. 

Rain streaked down the windows distorting the view outside. 

He couldn't recall any town named Silent Hill though he did know of Sinclair Amusements. A shitty amusement park that had been in direct competition with Freddys for years when the restaurant chain was still operating. 

They must have found the old restaurant and raided it for parts and pieces for some sort of cheap fright house. In the processes they must have found the hidden back room with him into, dorment. The accident the truck had been in must have jolted him awake. 

Still that didn’t explain why the truck was driving down an abandoned road to a ghost town. Unless, maybe there was a restaurant or an amusement park in town that had some of the old animatronics or was using the tech. While a little far fetched it was possible.

One ear twitched, the old audios picking up an odd sound. Sitting up a bit he looked around for the source of the sound. The old fashioned jukebox in the corner was dark so the sound could not have come from it. Getting up he searched the dinner, broken glass crunching underfoot, mangled ears flicking back and forth. 

On a table in the far back he found the source of the strange sound. A small handheld radio sitting on the farthest table had dared defile the holy aura of the refuge. He picked it up and the sound stopped though the tiny green power light remained on. 

“That was...odd.” he muttered to himself. He examined the radio, fiddling with the dials with large cumsbly fingers for a moment though all it picked up was static. He made to toss it across the dinner then paused. It still worked and the silence was nearly suffocating so why toss it? Maybe he could pick up a few stations once he left the dinner. With a sigh he tucked it into a large hole in his chest. 

Turning he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest while he watched the rain for a few moments then pushed off the counter and explored the dinner. 

Maybe there’s a map or something on one of the tables, the voice offered helpfully. 

Why would there be a-

People leave things behind all the time. Shoes, hats, toys, that radio. Maybe they left other things. 

There was no arguing with that logic. Even if he didn’t find a map in the dinner there might be a gas station near by that would have maps. At least he would know where he was and could plan out what to do from there. 

A search turned up nothing but more dust, broken dishes, a few desiccated carcasses of rats. With a grunt he straightened up, joints creaking in protest. 

Something moved in the fog outside, hunched and moving slowly just on the other side of the street. 

Curious he walked over to the window and stared out into the rain. The shape moved in an unnatural manner, lurching with each step. It made him feel uneasy. 

Doggy!

He winced at the loud cheerful exclamation that echoed in his head. That’s not a dog. 

It has to be. What else could it be? I want to pet it.

No dog moves like that. Even if it was a dog it would be feral. 

The confusion tricked through the unease. It means aggressive, wild. It won’t be nice. And I don’t want more holes in me. 

He could feel the disappointment coming off the AI in waves and not for the first time he regretted being fused with the suit. It had been so long that they were a part of each other now, shared memories, emotions, everything. Well almost everything. There were memories he managed to hide from the AI, horrible things he had done. 

Once the rain stops, I'll look for a gas station or something, try to find a map. 

The AI went silent and the only sound that filled the tomb like silence was the patter of rain on the windows.


	2. Chapter 2

Lost in the Fog 2

\---------------------------------------------------------------  
Buildings loomed from the fog, all lifess, dark and empty. Many appeared to have seen better days. He glanced to the sky to see no sun, no moon, just an endless expanse of grey-black clouds steadily marching across it. 

The building he stood before was weathered brick with large pillars of faux stone supporting a large front. The sign over the entrance missing, likely taken by the forces of nature but he didn’t need the sign to know he had found the visitors center. Scattered across the damp sidewalk were brochures ruined by the rain, all unreadable with the exception of a few stuck in the frame of the large glass and steel door. 

He grabbed the handle and forced the door open. 

Nobody greeted him except for a blast of cold heavy air, the rusting skeletons of steel and wood that once contained maps, postcards and other bits of paper that existed solely for the purpose to enlighten visitors of the town’s attractions and locations all in an attempt to empty their pockets lay scattered about. 

Postcards, most of them showing a lake and old three story hotel, lay in haphazard piles on the floor. Others showed an amusement park with a roller coaster, Ferris wheel and a carousel. All bait to snare newcomers.   
He ignored the postcards and made his way over to the broad desk and its silent old fashioned registers, the mouth of one was open and ready to devour hard earned money from tourists. Out of curiosity he checked the drawer of the register; ignoring the protests from the AI. 

Empty. 

Not that he had any need for money now. Even if there was money in the register what would he even spend it on in an abandoned town? If he walked into a gas station that was operating he’d be met with screams and likely gunfire. 

He pushed aside the mounds of moldering fragile brochures, letting them fall to the floor in his search of a map. That’s when he noticed it, something sticking out halfway out of the closed drawer of the second register. He tugged on it but register was as stubborn as a bulldog and refused to let go of its long coveted treasure. He leaned over the ancient thing, studying the dust covered buttons. One stood out, a dark red one. 

He pushed it with some hesitation. 

The ancient machine emitted a rustle of gears. It opened wide and its treasure was released, a tightly folded map that once unfolded showed a simple representation of the town. As to why it was in the register was a mystery. Had someone tried to hide it? 

Isn’t this stealing?

He snorted. “Stealing from whom? There is no one here.”

No matter. It was his now. 

He spread it out over the counter, studying it. The paper was heavily stained and there were notes written in black ink in the margins and large circles were made around key locations-Rosewater Park, Lakeview Hotel, Brookhaven Hospital and Lakeside Amusement park. 

His attention went immediately to the amusement park. 

A harsh burst of static broke the thick silence. Surprised he almost dropped the map. “Must be broken.” He muttered, why else would the radio randomly make noise?

Doggy!

He looked up to the large dust and grime covered windows to see a dark shape approaching, its gate unnatural, almost mechanical. Grabbing the map he rolled it up, eyes never leaving the odd form outside.

“That is not a d- “the glass window shattered violently, spraying the inside of the room with shimmering shards. He raised one arm instinctively to protect himself against the glass shards while something heavy slammed into the floor followed by a metallic scraping sound.

That’s when he laid eyes on the thing that had been following him. It vaguely resembled a dog though it had metal fused with raw flesh, limbs bent into unnatural angles and it was morbidly thin. All its ribs stood out under the matted filthy pelt.

Fear seized him in a vice. He found himself froze in place, unable to stop staring at the thing before him. An odd sense of familiarity oozed through the fear. It couldn’t be… he pushed it away and moved further away from the thing writhing on the floor.  
The dog like monster let out a low series of pained sounds as it struggled to stand, wrenching its long metal limbs that had been damaged by its charge through the glass window underneath it.

Grabbing one of the ancient registers off the counter he brought it down on the monster’s head which exploded in a spray of bone fragments, metal and brains. The body twitched a few times before going still.

The radio fell eerily silent.

Clutching the map tightly he inched around the corpse and out the door. There might be more of those things nearby and he wasn’t going to wait for them to show up.

\--------------------------------


	3. Chapter 3

Bit of a warning, there’s a suicide in this one at the end, non-graphic.

\------------------

Perhaps it was the rain fogging his vision but it looked as if the world around him was distorting, like a fresh painting splashed with water. He turned his attention to the map, studying it while rain pattered against the overhanging canopy. The corners of his rotting lips twitched in mild annoyance. Most of the roads were blocked by massive piles of wrecked cars, impossible walls or worse, a deep gaping trench that was impassable.

The amusement park seemed to be out of reach. For now.

He wasn’t willing to give up on it but the weather was getting worse and there were ...things roaming the fog. Things far worse than the dogs, things that stood tall and moved in jerky steps.

There was a motel nearby and while he needed no sleep it would be a place to wait out the rain and the things and he might find more information on the town.

He bowed his head, shoulders hunched while he tucked the map safely into his chest before setting out. The radio slept. He wanted it to remain that way. No need to break the sound of rain pattering on building and roads and the low groan of the wind with its crackling static.

If he followed Nathan Road it would take him on the outskirts of the town and lead him right to Jack’s Inn.

The road was long and relatively straight, on either side stood tall trees with bare skeletal branches that waved in the chill wind. One the right A short distance down the sloping hill gave way to a massive dark body of water, its surface choppy.

Springtrap paused to stare at the lake, unsure of why it gave him chills. Shaking the strange feeling off he continued down the road.

The asphalt gave way to cobblestone as he approached a park. Curious he turned off the road and followed the path, a wide walk with neatly trimmed grass and hedges on either side that seemed strange in an abandoned town. Was there some severely bored gardener hanging around keeping the park upkeep?

A short wall of chipped concrete topped by metal railing came into view. Rotting life preserves, faded and torn, lay haphazard around the short wall. Something fluttered in the wind, catching his attention. Turning he spotted a newspaper on a park bench.

Against his better judgement he picked it up. The edges of the damp paper were torn, ragged as if someone had ripped that section out. The ink was a little blurred but he could make out the headlines.

_ “**Duck Boat Tragedy**.” _

_ ‘In what Silent Hill law enforcement officials are calling an unprecedented tragedy, seventeen people were killed last night when a duck boat in which they were riding sank. _

_ Witnesses claimed that JP Salter, the duck boat’s operator, was visibly intoxicated at the time of the accident, and that negligence on his part may have led to the sinking. _

_ "We've just begun investigating this terrible accident and it's far too soon to speculate on anything," Detective Edward Rogers told reporters this morning. “Rest assured, we will utilize all available police resources and personnel to uncover the cause." _

_ The Silent Hill Tourism Authority has shut down all of Toluca Lake operations indefinitely…..’ _

Feeling uneasy he put the paper back down and turned back to the lake. Why would anyone want to save that? He leaned on the railing, letting the wind that smelled of damp earth and rotting things wash over him.

Then he spotted it. A strange form sticking up from the dark waters, surrounded by fog. Its hull was covered in slimy algae and growth, the paint long faded and chipped. It leaned heavily to the side, clearly wedged into the thick mud of the lake.

_ It’s the boat… _

Springtrap felt himself stepping back from the railing. Why was it...they must have been towing it after the accident and it got stuck in the shallows and it must have been too difficult to get it free so they left it.

He was about to turn back to the road when he saw something out of the corner of his eye, and he spun around ready to fend off what horror the fog had thrown at him only to find what he thought was a monstrosity was just a man.

The man was leaning on the railing, staring off at the lake as if he didn’t see Springtrap. His skin was rain slicked and pale, clothing rumpled. A large colorful patch of a cartoon rubber duck with blocky red letters spelling out Duck Boat under it was on one arm.

One ear twitched. It couldn’t be. Springtrap looked around for the hidden cameras that he was certain had to be there. Either he had stumbled onto a well concealed movie set or the towns supernatural elements were messing with him.

Either way he severely uncomfortable.

“Pretty impressive, isn't it?”

“Yeah...if you like a lot of water.” he shifted in place. The man wasn’t running and screaming like they usually did.

_ He doesn’t see you as you are but as you were. _

_ What the hell are you talking about? _ Had the AI finally gone daft?

“You might not guess by looking at it, but this place used to be filled with all kinds of crazy moms and dads and tourist every summer...yeah it was a really nice place. The man continued to stare out the dark water. “Sorry, the name is JP Salter. We don’t get many visitors any more, especially not security guards.”

Springtrap froze, wrecked ears twitching. Night guard? How...he glanced down at the ruined body. There was nothing that would even remotely indicate that he had once been a night guard then he thought about the cryptic message. What sort of power did this town hold?

_ Wait, how did you know… _

_ I just do alright! I don’t know how… _

“Was. It's been a long while since I had that job.” Spring leaned forward on the railing, his own gaze lingering on the ruins of the boat before turning to the dark waters below.

“Sorry to hear that.” Salter fell silent for a moment.” First time visitor?”

“Guess you can say that. The truck I was..driving went off the road. Been looking for a way out.”

“A way out? What good would that do?” the man snapped, hands tightening the cold railing. “Sorry, like I said, don’t get many visitors. Nathan Ave used to lead out but...you'd have to get out of South Vale and the only way out that I can think of is the draw bridge in Old Silent Hill. You follow Nathan Ave to South Park then to Central Silent Hill but if the roads are blocked then the only other way is to cross Toluca lake.”

Springtrap took a moment to absorb the information. That meant he’d have to find more maps so he could access alternative routes. “You wouldn’t have to know where I can find maps. I’m not from around here.”

“The Texxon Gas Station might have some. It’s down the road. Can’t miss it. Boy I tell you, the kids used to love that little boat.”

_ Something is wrong. Very wrong. _

“How about you show me? I might get lost.”

“Sorry, can’t do that. I need some alone time, if you know what I mean.”

_ The boat! He was the one driving it. _

“You know none of the things they say are true. The papers and stuff, the people around town, my lawyers said it was just circumstantial evidence and what not. That’s what I keep telling them. “The man rambled on, almost as if he didn’t care that he wasn’t alone.

“Yeah I read about it.”

“Those newspaper men are god damn liars! What happened, that was just an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt nobody. I didn’t murder no body. Murder is a mortal sin. You go to hell for murder. Isn't that right? “

Springtrap froze again. Something uncurled deep inside of him, something he didn’t like. It slithered around his mind like black oil, seeping into everything dredging up old memories. His hands tightened on the cold slippery railing until the joints began to creak softly. The edges of his rotten lips twitched slightly while he continued to stare at the churning waters far below, waves beating on worn and weathered rocks.

You go to hell for murder.

Is that where he was? In some sort of hell? One that he could not escape? If an abandoned town full of thick fog was hell then all those CD covers he had a teen had lied to him. There was no sign of flames or manic grinning devils.

The rustle of cloth pulled him from his dark thoughts.

He turned his head to see the man climbing onto the rail, balance precarious, the wind ripping at his clothing. “What are you doing JP?”

“ Can you imagine what it would be like, living in someone else's lie? Heh, listen to us talk, Like anyone around here gives a damn when we are the ones who decide if we can live with what we’ve done.” the mans’ gaze never once diverted from the lake.

“Relax, we are just talking. Why don’t you come down?” he wasn’t sure why he felt a sudden surge of concern. If the man wanted to kill himself then so be it. It was his choice after all.

Slowly he pushed off the railing and inched closer to Salter.

“And how about you? Someone knows about your dirty little secrets?”

“Yeah, several people know about them. My old business partner was one. He kept them to himself and it destroyed him. Why don’t you come down? It's a bit hard to talk to you while you're up there.”

“Sorry. I...can't do that. Be seeing you around.” with that he stepped forward, suspended for a split second in midair before plummeting.

“No!” Springtrap lunged forward, hands closing a second too late on thin air.

He could feel the AI’s horror and his own at the sound of something heavy hitting the water far below. He leaned over the railing, almost frantically searching the churning water for any sign of the man. There wasn’t so much a shred of blue cloth or splash of blood on the craggy moss covered rocks mean he must have hit the water.

But Jp never surfaced.

Feeling numb he continued to stare at the water for what felt like several hours, the cold misty rain seeping into the many holes in the suit though he hardly felt it.

After several moments of standing motionless he pushed off the railing and turned towards the far end of the park, footsteps slow and heavy.

\----------------------------

  
  



End file.
